


Indian Summer

by Maleyah (Katherine_Kat)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Flirting, Human intimacy, Intimacy, Light Dom/sub, Light dom/sub undertones, Loneliness, M/M, Making Out, Mal wrote a thing, MeetCute, Nighttime wandering, Quarantine, Snowglobe story, Soft Boys, Something at first sight, Teasing, public making out, public place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29133555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katherine_Kat/pseuds/Maleyah
Summary: The mood shifts, rippling like light on the water. Dean cocks his head, voice ever so gentle. "What is it you miss, Cas?"“A lot of things," he says, matching Dean's soft tone. "Today.. Today I miss the feeling of walking out of a pub late at night during Indian Summer, like this one, and the warm wind on my skin through my clothes.”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 34





	Indian Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Title [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zHZzxJtOKw) is by The Doors. Cas' sentiment on Indian Summers, Irish pubs, the wind through your clothes and human intimacy is my own. The story flowed forth from it, which was a rl exhange. I really do miss that.
> 
> Beta-read by [Insominia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/insominia/profile), who was very kind and enthusiastic. Thanks for doing the thing!
> 
> Leave us some love, if you've enjoyed their story.  
> Much love in return, as always,  
> Mal

Castiel doesn’t mind not seeing people on the daily, but he’d very much like to be able to see _his_ people. It’s been a while. In fact, it’s been months of only video and phone calls, neither of which he’s very good at nor enjoys a lot, because they leave him feeling drained. Disconnected. Brain fog usually follows and it affects him for days. Not partaking in them also affects him, so there’s no right choice.

As a translator and editor, his job is relatively steady and he can pay his bills, but whereas he used to be able to meet up with clients and colleagues over lunch or at the office, everything now happens online and via email. He loathes zoom and teams with a passion. Half the time it feels like a seance and they're calling out to spirits. ("Jim, are you there?", "Edith, can you give us a sign that you can hear us?") An Ouija board would make for more efficient time spent at this stage.

His already limited social life came to a grinding halt. There are no festivals where he can vanish in the crowd, soaking up what he needs. A changed horizon. The company of his siblings and their families, when they do visit. Nieces and nephews to play with. His human contact has effectively been reduced to almost nothing. His siblings live too far away to visit, because unless it’s essential travel, they can’t.

This new way of living possesses a subtle way of wearing people out, even an introvert like himself. Because life as such continues, except within the confines of four walls for some and in constant ‘fear of’ for others. Or denial for some. The weight of a changed reality and an even more uncertain future on everyone's shoulders leaves its mark, probably for decades to come. He’s one of the lucky ones. No losses in his inner circle. Working from home. He’s safe. Day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute, he’s safe.

And alone.

When he moved out to live on his own, he never intended it to be quite like this. He thought his music, books and what connections he had would suffice. Instead, his music now sounds hollow and his books, each one an old friend, have become strangers, whose language he no longer understands.

And real people have become more of a conundrum.

Nothing like a good crisis to crystallize priorities and he’s clearly not the top choice on many people’s lists, except those who are too far away and then it loops back to brain fog.

Good thing he has Bumble and Bee for company. His two cats are incredibly sweet and tactile, capable of making him smile on any day. They weigh him down in bed, serving as warm, purring weighted blankets, and weave through his legs, meowing sweetly to keep him on his toes. Their presence reminds him of the basics: eat, drink water, sleep, wash.

He goes for walks, having mapped out the neighbourhood to such perfection, he can find his way blind. After a while, it gets old, but he tries to stick to it. Often enough, he stays in his pyjamas all day. He squeezes in exercise through an app he shares with his siblings and it’s a remote contest. Not that he’s very competitive, but it’s something to do. 

He tries to learn new stuff, but the brain fog makes it difficult. So he doubles down on his work and known interests. To be fair, he also spends a fair bit of time simply zoning out with Full House reruns or various cooking shows, which give him one too many ideas. His cooking skills have improved considerably, though he’s also indulging in more comfort food. On occasion, he cooks fresh meals for Bumble and Bee.

But despite his best efforts, there are days that just _don’t_ work.

Today is one of them, while he sits on the window sill and stares off into the night. A bright moon is hiding behind a patch of clouds. A vague sense of misfit is eating away at him, hollowing him out.The wind that blows inside is warm and smells like freedom. His focus shifts from the lights, blurring them, until they sharpen on the various fronts of houses down the street and get caught on details he never used to notice.

Bumble is sitting next to him, pupils blown huge in the darkness, and her whiskers quiver whenever she smells An Interesting Thing. The night is eerily quiet in the absence of humanity moving about. Not a car around, no pedestrians, and all shops closed, lights doused. He never thought to live in times of curfew.

“Fuck it,” he mumbles. Bumble merps at him, when he rises, so he pets her, as he closes the window. Then gives Bee the same treatment, lest she thinks she’s less loved. “I’m going for a walk, sweeties.”

He considers changing into actual clothes rather than the shirt and pyjama pants he's wearing, but dismisses it, eager to get out. To abide by the law as written, which is stupid since he isn't abiding by another one, he shoves a mask in his pocket. Shoes. Keys. That’s it.

*

He spreads his arms, smiling wide and inhaling the clear night air. There are stars overhead and the scent of the park is carried towards him on the wind. Shirt unbuttoned, it meets his skin like a refreshing shower after a day spent at the beach which is also a lifetime away. His linen pants let in the air enough for goosebumps to rise briefly.

“Oh, fuck, finally,” he sighs, stretching his arms in an attempt to hug the expansive skies to him. “Fuuuuck…”

A heavy weariness that took up residence in his bones surrenders to gravity, seeping into the earth with every step he takes, as if he’s molting. Casting off dull, heavy feathers that served their purpose and need to be left behind. He rolls his shoulders, an arm across his chest to reach for the opposite shoulder and squeeze the muscles. The shirt slips partways off and he leaves it there, when he makes his way into the park.

A different cooling wind touches his skin, everywhere he’s not covered, and he wishes he was naked. Wishes he lived somewhere with enough space to do so, instead of a closely knit-together city with only a few parks. They are beautiful though, especially at this time of night. It’s rare to see them this devoid of a crowd. He finds his sentiment on that matter on the fence. He’s glad to be here and to be able to breathe, something that was impossible before, because he’d trip over others - interrupting his thoughts and intentions, until they evaporated and he had to return home. Now… He wouldn’t mind a human face or two. Perfect strangers would be fine.

Perhaps he ought to take his brother up on his offer to move in. Until everything blows over and the world can recover. But that would entail a shitload of paperwork and work stress. Also it’s something he's not sure he is up to. Besides, he would rather believe some sense of normalcy will return.

He wanders down the darker paths, considering the option, an occasional lantern leading the way to the pond constellation with the willow trees. Around this time, they are some of the last ones to retain their leaves - bright yellow, which will start to wane to a pale ochre before they fall. Combined with the water lilies speckled across the water surface, it’s one of his favorite spots and just what he needs. Enough to make him jog the last part.

When he rounds the last bend on a little t-crossroads, he all but collides with someone else. He yelps in surprise. A similar sound is echoed, both of them audibly freaked out by the other’s presence. They _do_ touch _,_ in fact, and are quick to push off each other, creating distance.

“Holy fucking shit! What the… Sorry!”

“Balls!”

Stumbling backwards, he has to steady himself so he doesn’t fall flat on his ass. Heart in his throat, he holds a hand over his sternum. “Jeez…” 

He glances at this stranger in the night, but he is turned away from him.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks.

A muffled sound follows, while he turns towards Castiel, fiddling with the straps of the mask. “Uhh, no,” he pants. “I’m fine, except for my heartrate. Just…”

He points at his face, unnecessarily, and Castiel’s been fumbling with his own since his penny dropped. Straightening up, he tugs it on both ends so it’s over his nose and under his chin. “Yeah… Mask, I know.”

They look at each other for a moment, breathing slowly going back down. Castiel feels nerves tingling across his skin when he thinks this man's gaze lingers on him. Not too long. But intense. Perhaps they stare too long, because _he_ doesn’t stop and Castiel can’t either. Maybe this wasn't one of his brightest ideas? The stranger is the first to break the silence, a pleasant timbre to his voice.

“I guess neither one of us expected to run into anyone, huh?”

“No,” he says. “Cause we’re not.. supposed to be here?”

“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” he smiles, winking.

Castiel blinks in wonder. So, okay, another human and now he doesn’t know what to do or say. “I live alone, so who am I gonna tell? My cats won’t care.”

His voice is a lot tighter than he intended and whoever this guy is, he’s quick on the uptake as he narrows his eyes at Castiel. He leans his weight to one leg, hips and shoulders going contrapposto casual. Castiel chews his lip pensively, frowning when he seems to smile at him.

“Soooo… you _were_ hoping to run into someone?”

Castiel scoffs, more at himself than the suggestion, and dodges out from under a pair of kind eyes. He can't peg their colour. He also can't peg why the truth slips out, unbidden. “Subconsciously maybe. Likely.”

He receives an understanding nod and a vague gesture at the world outside the park. “Can’t blame you.”

“Do you live alone too?”

He hums at himself, because that seems a bit… rude? Or invasive at least, so he starts looking for words to retract the question, but an easy shrug is his answer.

“Yeah, but I see plenty of people at work. No worries, I got tested yesterday. Results today and we’re cool.”

The stranger makes finger guns at him.

He tilts his head, looking closer at this man, and instantly realizes that wasn’t excessively wise. Even with a mask on, it’s insultingly obvious he’s handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a plaid shirt and loose denims. His hair is very fluffy, sticking out like a hedgehog’s. The way he looks Castiel over _again_ makes him stand taller, though he is unsure why. He tugs his shirt up over his shoulder and shoves his hands into his pockets. All pyjama pants should have pockets, just like dresses and skirts.

"I'm Dean, by the way."

Right. Fellow humans have names. "Castiel."

"Okay, Cas. Wanna get moving again? You seemed in a hurry to get somewhere."

He squints at the ease with which he is given a nickname, but there is something very charming and gravitational at play. As evidenced by the fact that his feet start moving down the path again, falling into step beside Dean.

"I was heading for the lily pond. You?"

"Same. What are the odds?"

"Hmm," Castiel hums, but he is smiling at Dean's easy-going nature. As if Castiel isn't hopelessly awkward, but perhaps meeting in the middle of the night during quarantine supersedes regular awkwardness and they just landed somewhere new. On equal footing, because both of them are looking for something similar.

Curiosity blooms as they walk together. He gives the feeling time to simmer, hoping Dean might speak first. He steals sideways glances.

Handsome might not suffice. Beautiful. The moonlight falls through the foliage every few steps and illuminates his profile. Long lashes, sharp cheekbones. Scruff peeking out from behind the mask and trailing down his neck. He would like to see more of his face. See how he smiles.

There is fatigue in him too. Tired eyes, now that he isn't conversing with Castiel, and a heaviness in the slant of his shoulders. His gait is still purposeful, as if he permanently has an objective, regardless how tired he is.

“What do you do?” he asks abruptly.

Dean rises up, blinking rapidly as if Castiel pulled him out of something. “I'm a paramedic at the hospital. Driver too."

He exhales sharply. "Frontline. How has that been for you?"

"Well… My boss got snippy and downright ordered me to take up some of my holidays." He smiles wryly and rubs at the back of his neck, as if he's uncomfortable. "It's been a year.."

"Yeah," he says, impressed. "When you're that close to what is actually happening? Nonstop... Small wonder you need some holidays."

"Need is relative, when people are dying and their families aren't allowed near them."

He makes a soft tsk sound, which draws Dean's attention, a question in his expression. "That can't be easy to watch.. Or explain. To those left behind, I mean.”

“You got that right.”

“Do they provide some sort of support for you?"

"They do, but.. I gotta level with you, I'm not one for shrinks and all that."

Castiel smiles, because there is something adorable about how Dean bats his hand at 'all that', as if swatting at flies.

"Don't they teach you the importance of unburdening and processing and.. ‘all that’? I'm not a psychologist, but it sounds sensible."

Dean laughs, a lovely sound that ripples through his whole body. He tugs at his mask, looking up at the trees for a moment. Ahead of them, the pond comes into view. "Yeah. _Sensible_.. You sound like my brother."

"Is he clever?"

"Very."

"Well, good." His gaze is drawn to the willows and the flowers. This is his spot. He reaches for Dean, who catches the gesture, and they momentarily freeze. Castiel stops himself before he touches him and points. "Can we… be here for a while?"

Dean seems surprised Castiel asks and, frankly, it is a bit weird, but he nods anyway. They take up residence against the wooden fence, leaning on it at a respectable distance. A nook inside a cocoon inside a park inside a city.

He likes silence, but in his lifetime, he hasn't been able to be quiet around other human beings with any level of comfort or ease. Not even his closest kin.

As sudden as their meeting was mere minutes ago, they now slip into the kind of quiet that exists between those who share a long history. In his chest, a strange, unknown feeling blooms - slowly opening petals, soft and inviting, and he remembers something he used to believe when he was a kid.

That there are humans out there beyond your kin who… fit. Effortless, while at the same challenging everything you think you know about yourself.

A strange sentiment to resurface. He wonders if he is that intimacy-starved or if it's the full moon or if, perhaps, just maybe, he is on to something.

"So what drove you outside?"

He gasps, Dean's voice dragging him out of his reverie.

"Nothing really," he says, feeling like his restlessness is futile when there are people like Dean doing and risking far more.

Dean shifts his weight towards him, so he comes closer. "Aww, come on, man. That just ain't true."

"Compared to what you go through every day?"

"Oh.."

He lets out a dismissive sound, hoping that settles it. Besides, he is here now with unexpected company.

"Not how it works though, is it? We all gotta deal with shit. _Process_ , as you said."

He sounds pleased that he turned Castiel's words back on him.

"Maybe," he grumbles, but he’s fighting a smile, because the sparkles in Dean’s eyes are contagious.

"Surely. I mean, I can't force you to share, but I'd like to hear it?"

Why even, he wonders. "It's silly.. and only if you share too."

Dean shoots him an intense look over the mask. "Okay, now I kinda wanna know."

Castiel juts his chin out, a teasing note to his voice, and steels his tone. "You too."

Something tempting ghosts behind Dean’s eyes, as if ideas are sparking. "Okay, fine. I'll share. You first though," he adds quickly, pointing at him in warning, as if he expects mischief. (And he might be right. Castiel is already trying to gauge his odds.) 

The mood shifts, rippling like light on the water. Dean cocks his head, voice ever so gentle. "What is it you miss, Cas?"

“A lot of things," he says, matching Dean's soft tone. "Today.. Today I miss the feeling of walking out of a pub late at night during Indian Summer, like this one, and the warm wind on my skin through my clothes.”

He keeps his eyes on the floating lilies, his focus divided between looking for a response in Dean from the corner of his eye and enjoying the breeze that comes in over the water.

“Jeez, what a mood,” Dean says, a surprised laugh carried on a rough exhale. He blows a raspberry and runs his hand through his hair, eyes sliding shut briefly as he tilts his head back. "What.. a mood."

They stand in silence and even though he only has half a face to work with, Dean’s eyebrows and eyes go through a journey, until they land back on Castiel - accusatory, almost, but mostly...

“Way to go, man, making me all wistful and shit."

Snickering, Castiel gives him an apologetic look. “Sorry… You’re here though. There is a nice breeze. Close enough?”

“Yeah, but…” Dean casts him a sly glance. “That pub idea isn’t half bad…”

“You like pub crawling?”

“I used to, and hell, it’s such a novelty now, I’d probably happily do it again. But…”

Castiel tilts his head, then up to glance up at the stars through the canopy, relishing the scents, even through the fabric. “But?” 

“In this particular case, it’s because…” Their eyes meet again and Castiel wiggles his nose, wanting to tear the mask off. “I dunno why, man, but… I wanna share in that… daydream or wish of yours, whatever you call it. It feels like it’s been ages…”

That deeply pleasant, warm feeling grows stronger under his sternum, reaching for the softest parts on his body and in his brain. He can almost sense an energy spark in the air. It pulls them closer together. Perhaps this type of silence encourages him, but it surprises Castiel when Dean continues.

“I want to go to a pub with you, have a few beers, share stories, make you laugh,” and Castiel does, when Dean gives him a crinkly smile, “Get just the right side of tipsy and stumble back out into the night air, and _not_ want to part ways…"

Castiel's breath hitches at the implications of those words and it recenters his focus. Dean catches it in the same moment, where they both realize and regard each other - waiting for the dynamic to go out of step. When it doesn’t, Dean gives a minute nod, a frowned gaze cast across the water, and Castiel’s heart speeds up. What a gamble to take.

"Right?" Dean says, sounding a touch more vulnerable. "That… unwillingness to let a night come to its end so we’d linger…”

His eyes dart to Castiel and he visibly gets nervous, the rest of that _daydream_ petering out in a soft exhale, but Castiel is dying to know, so he leans closer.

“Go on.”

He doesn’t mean it to sound quite so commanding and the tone of his voice makes Dean jolt, reassessing him for a few seconds. Something in his countenance shifts, as he angles himself differently, broad chest towards Castiel, and he tilts forward.

He’s taller, Castiel thinks, arranging his weight and hips so he’s smaller than he seems, enjoying how Dean’s shadow catches him. They’re both leaning on the fence heavily, but the space between them has long ceased to be appropriate. In the ‘sign of the times’ kinda way. Or any other way.

“We’d linger," Dean says. He is speaking quieter and it draws him in further. "Maybe in front of your door or under my window, and we’d talk more, about nothing and everything, y’know, all those little things you don’t know yet and everything you have in common and everything you don’t. It’s all so bright and interesting and… tempting… Because there’s a connection just right there…” 

He searches Castiel’s face. “And you’re not sure if you’ll ever make it inside or if you’ll stay out there, on the precipice of that moment… and maybe watch the sunrise together.”

Dean’s eyes take on an interesting energy and though he can’t see it, he’s sure Dean licks his lips. He does watch how his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and just like that his attention is back on his eyes. Green. They're green.

“Or if you’ll kiss me,” Dean says, on a warm exhale, “Or I’ll kiss you first…”

A tune starts humming through his mind and veins. Its undercurrent is very much one of _yes_. Yes, please, yes, now, yes, so much yes, and it’s baffling, because he doesn’t know this man from scratch and this really isn’t his style. His fantasies are all over the place and would put Gabe to shame, but in real life, he needs _very_ specific circumstances… and he had no idea his current ones would do the trick. Which means it is Dean.

“That’s another kind of daydream altogether,” he whispers.

Dean holds his gaze for a few more intense heartbeats and a simpler part of Castiel wonders - wishes - imagines he might pull the masks off and kiss him, but knows better. Eventually Dean looks back to the pond, breaking the moment, but not harshly - just enough for Castiel to breathe in. He forgot he needs air.

“Well, yours started out alone, I guess?”

“It did, but way to go,” he says with a teasing smile on a shaky breath. “Making me all wistful like that.”

Dean laughs and he’s still _right there_ , in Castiel’s space, even though they’re not trying to pry each other’s souls free by mere eye contact.

“Your eyes crinkle when you smile,” Dean says.

He nudges their shoulders together. “You haven’t seen me smile yet.”

“I’ve seen half your smile and I’ve heard it. It’s awesome.”

It’s such an absurdly sweet compliment, casually delivered, while Dean plucks at a few leaves that got stuck in the wooden fence and tosses them. For something to do. Petulant, though Castiel has no idea at what.

He stifles his own laughter and it brings Dean in close again. “These masks make everything feel like a Victorian novel, where people flash ankles.”

“I prefer the mask over the corset to be honest,” Dean laughs.

“You’ve worn both then?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Can’t say I have, but I’m willing to try anything twice.”

Dean clears his throat, waggling his eyebrows. “Are you?”

He narrows his eyes, resisting the urge to twist a finger through Dean’s belt loops. Still right there. “You sound like you have something in mind?”

“Well, we weren’t wearing our masks when we ran into each other…”

Castiel’s heart beats loud in his ears at the smoothness in those words, like honey on his tongue, and all of a sudden he wants something else to taste. “Yes?” he urges.

He catches a half-grin or something, by the way Dean’s cheek moves, and when he winks, he’s lost. So lost.

Dean’s warmth so close to his body alternates with little gusts of wind across his arms, through his pants and against his abdomen, whenever they move. A pleasant trickle of heat runs down his spine, a light sweat breaking out. Dean tugs at his mask, suggestive of what they're angling for.

“We established you’re safe, because you’re…”

“Abhorrently alone, you can say it,” Castiel jokes. He puts his hand to his forehead dramatically, baring his throat to Dean, and moves so he’s leaning close enough for _easy access_. “In desperate need of company and touch.”

Dean’s jaw clenches beautifully. “Uh-huh, that. I have time off and just got tested. Safe.”

“Safe,” Castiel echoes, a bit breathy.

He can’t help himself. Needs clearly must when the devil drives.

“I’m not usually like this,” he blurts out, realizing just how off centre his behaviour is _to himself_.

“No? Why not?”

“My people skills are rusty and I’d be very surprised if they got better over the course of the past year, largely spent in isolation.”

Dean scoffs gently, tilting sideways, so they’re almost chest to chest. Thighs brush together and ahhn, hands too. Castiel’s fingers tingle at the mere thought. “So I should count my lucky stars I bring this out in you?”

“It’s the full moon.”

“Must be. So once a month?”

He chuckles at the hopeful tone. “Something like that.”

“I can live with that.”

Leaps and bounds, he thinks, mind vibrating at an insane frequency.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Dean asks.

“What? No! Why?”

“You’re trembling.”

He sneers softly at his betrayal of a body. “I’m about to shift into my true form,” he says, but his tone belies the deflection.

“And what, pray tell, would that look like, sunshine?”

He almost blurts out his namesake’s true form, but a more obsessive part of him takes hold.

“No,” he says, suddenly grumpy.

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up and he retreats slightly, which, shit, no, wrong direction, handsome. His hand shoots out, finger looping, and Dean’s gaze drops there, just there, at his hip, Castiel’s thumb teasing the hem of his t-shirt.

“No?”

“I…” He falters, staring at his own hand, then back up. “I meant, first your conundrum.”

Visibly confused, Dean shakes his head as he spreads his hands. “I have a conundrum?”

When he drops his arms back down, one catches on Castiel's wrist. The pressure there increases, a thumb to the soft skin on the inside of his arm. His blood rushes faster, because mmh, fuck, what are they _doing_? Besides the obvious...

“Safe,” he grits out, foregoing play. “Rusty, I told you… but you sparked an idea and now I can’t shake it. So…” He smooths out his tone and beseeches Dean with his eyes, as he hooks a finger behind his own mask. “Masks off?”

Dean lets out an incredulous laugh. “Oh, hell, yes, baby.”

Castiel all but rips his own off. Dean is gentler, but it results in another beautiful laugh, and Castiel likes being right about stuff like this. Doomed as he might be in how he responds to the revelation, he still likes it. Dean rubs his cheeks with both hands, the sound of stubble being scratched on the air, and, yes, he agrees. Fresh air on his skin.

Dean bites his lower lip, as he runs his hands through his hair, setting it even more on end. Castiel giggles at the sight, and basks in the softness of the moment. How it walks a tightrope between smooth and about to get real interesting, if he’s reading the signs right.

‘Baby’ suggests he is.

"Why are you making that face?” Dean asks, hand rubbing over his mouth. “Is something on mine?"

"No… but you are really, really unfairly beautiful."

Dean scrunches up his nose. "Like I had any control over that?"

"Oh, no, not like that. I don't begrudge anyone their looks… more that.. you.. you fit right in here, among natural beauty. The moon, the water, the lilies.. all that is naturally good and wholesome and.. I don't stand a chance."

Dean frowns. "Uhm, don't stand a chance because I'm pretty?"

"I said beautiful. And good and wholesome. Not mundanely pretty. I don't get my words wrong. But I see why you might be tired of hearing that.”

“Jeez, you're adorable when you're grumpy. You're not the only one who won't stand a chance, though I'm not sure what good or wholesome has to do with my looks."

"Radiate. Like sunrays," he says, wondering why he keeps running his mouth with lousy attempts at poetry. "I'm failing to get my point across."

Dean casually leans on the fence. "I'm willing to listen to you try a bit longer." He grins when Castiel glares. "Or alternatively I could offer you some.. uhh, compliments in return?"

"Spare me maybe. I don't take them well."

"All the more reason," Dean says, dead serious. "Here is one.. I don't talk easily. Normally. Least of all about what is actually going on in my head and even less so all the… other stuff,” he gestures helplessly, “I just said.”

“That daydream?” Castiel asks, just because he wants to hear it.

“Yes.” Dean makes a face at him. “That. Somehow I want to talk to you."

Castiel pushes his nose to the air, as if he wants to sniff out the lie behind the words that skate close enough to his own feelings to make him shiver. It soothes and terrifies him at the same time.

"I like how you bodily respond to my words. My voice maybe," Dean says, eyes narrowed as they track over his body. "Still trying to peg which it is."

Betrayal of a body, he thinks. He manages to keep his mouth wisely shut and leave Dean in the dark. He is hitting bullseyes as it is. A teasing smile tugs at Castiel's lips, when Dean recognizes his silence as _something_ and grins crookedly.

"And that is interesting too," he murmurs, softer.

Castiel nods and drops his gaze, consciously, to see if Dean takes the bait. Warm breath at his cheekbone says 'yes', when it brings Dean in close. The scent of cologne and alcohol mingles. The hospital kind, not booze.

"Shy… or a tease," Dean whispers. "Likely both and then much, much more.”

"Both. Cocky," he fires back. "But very soft at the centre."

He twists around, nudging his cheek to Dean's to push him away so they lock eyes. He finds apprehension there. It seems they up the ante with every guess and perhaps Dean is nervous too.

"Soft and… purposeful," He reaches out and puts his hand to Dean's abdomen, feeling the muscles jump with the sharp, surprised intake of breath. He bares his teeth at Dean. "And righteous."

"Biblical. Like your name. Angel?"

He's been called that before. It's an obvious choice, all in all, but it was never before uttered the way Dean says it.

"Say that again," he whispers. "It sounds right when you say it."

Dean smiles, flashing him an even row of teeth. A dimple shows and Castiel has trouble choosing a feature to focus on. Parts of him tighten and heat up, when Dean inches in. Leans closer, until his lips are at the corner of Castiel’s mouth, he whispers the endearment. That's what it sounds like now… not a nickname. An endearment.

"Angel…"

He tilts his head minutely and licks his lips. Smallest gesture, but palpable for both of them.

"Freckles," he mutters. "Like the stars above. I'm very fond of them."

"The stars or my freckles?”

"Again," he says, smiling. "Both. Tired. You seem tired, like you could do with someone scritching through your hair until you doze off and sleep for a week."

That actually provokes a groan and Dean drops his forehead to Castiel's. "Mmhh.. that… now you're reading my mind and derailing it in one go."

He finally moves his hand, emboldened by their closeness and quickly tracks it up Dean's arm to the back of his neck. His skin is warm and a little sweaty, but he doesn't linger there for very long. His fingers card through short, soft hair. Scrape a trail up his scalp, then settle at the base of his skull, drawing small circles.

With another moan pulled free, Castiel watches in bemusement as Dean's eyes flutter shut. Immediately some of the fatigue seeps out as his face relaxes.

Very soft. He was right.

Keeping their foreheads pressed together, Dean moves closer, their bodies stuck in a little dance. Their breaths mingle and Castiel’s ratchets up, when Dean’s eyes open. He nudges at Castiel’s nose and their lips catch. He almost shuts his eyes at the feeling, but doesn’t dare to. Not yet. Limbs accommodate themselves, Dean’s arms encasing him against the fence, Castiel’s legs bracketing him, and he grabs Dean’s shoulder tightly, when his knees momentarily give out under the hard pressure of another human body against his own. He squeezes Dean’s biceps, when it flexes under his palm and he’s pinned to the fence.

Dean nips, tongue flicking out, and Castiel rushes forward to meet him. His insides uncoil and catch on fire at once, when Dean grabs his hair and tilts his head back, shamelessly taking control of the kiss, and _fuck_ , heat kindles rapidly when Dean knees his legs further apart. Not all softness, then, and he all but claws at Dean to keep him.

He holds Dean as close as he can, slipping an arm under his shirt in search of skin. Warmth, skin, the feeling of fast breathing and a heartbeat under his palm. Dean’s teeth sink into his lip, his blood rushing too hard for Castiel to hear his own sounds, but he’s making them. He always does when it gets like this. A rough burn of scruff on scruff and he curls his fingers until his nails dig into the thick muscles of Dean’s shoulder.

There is a brief moment of contemplation, a look exchanged, before he kisses Castiel again. More urgent this time, demanding in how he towers over him and bites at his lip until he moans, then slips his tongue in. A hand grips tight in his hair and bares his throat while another peels his shirt off his shoulder, and fuckfuckfuck, just like that Dean is hitting one too many buttons at once.

He moans, one hand clutching at Dean's shirt, another finding purchase against the fence.

Dean bites at his neck, a sharp pain that anchors him right back, and he writhes against him. He needs to find Dean's buttons and fast, before he simply gives in.

"Fuck," Dean grinds out roughly. "Are those… tattoos?"

Castiel hums affirmation. "Wings."

Dean groans, kissing up and down his collarbone and neck. "Turn around."

He goes with the order more easily than he normally would and turns within Dean's arms. Not a lot of room. A lot of warm, hard muscle. Hot breath falls to the nape of his neck and he braces against the fence.

Or he wants to. Before he can, Dean makes a questioning sound as he tugs at his collar. Castiel nods and cooperates, when Dean gingerly pulls his shirt off. Dean lets out a string of appreciative curses.

"They're gorgeous," he mutters, a hand skittering over his skin. "You're gorgeous."

He should damn well hope so, half naked in the middle of the park at night.

"They're… broken? Cas, why... Fuck, I wanna…" 

And yes, so does Castiel. He would rather not explain why his wings are what they are. Not now. Not yet. He whimpers, an urgent, needy sound, which sets something off.

Dean twists the fabric of his shirt and it goes tight around his arms, so he can't move. The large, hard planes of Dean lean into him, and he is trapped. He pushes off of the fence and Dean pulls him up on his tiptoes. Eyes shooting up to the skies, he lets his head fall to Dean's shoulder. A hand coasts over his stomach up to his chest and he whines when Dean flicks his nipples. His hips roll of their own accord, while his want skyrockets right alongside his need to _resist_.

"Dean, sweetheart," he pants, vision going intensely sharp at the position he is in. His body is pulled taut, part of him ready to bend, another trembling to break free. "Dean…"

"I hear you," Dean says, a darker intent to his voice, but he can tell he _is_ listening.

"There is a reason those wings are broken. There is a reason I am out here. There is a reason you peg me as shy and a tease," he says, words coming out clipped through short bursts of breath.

He struggles against the grip Dean has on him, letting enough of his strength through that Dean understands. It takes one too many heartbeats, while they remain as they are, Castiel's eyes stuck on the stars.

Then Dean kisses the back of his neck and lets go, smoothing his shirt back on him. What that sets free has Castiel turning on his heels fast and throwing his arms around Dean. He drags his tongue over Dean's lips, is granted instant access and he just loses himself to that kiss. Gets himself pinned to the fence again, Dean's strong arms wrapped around his waist tight. He breathes through his nose, dragging gulps of Dean's essence with it. When they break apart, Dean is regarding him solemnly in the tiny space between them, head cocked, brow knit. Castiel gives him his best doe eyes.

Jaw clenching, Dean scoffs gently at that. Nips at his lip. "You alright? This would be where I'd ask for a.."

"Yes. It would be, but… I'm alright."

Clever, clever green eyes, he thinks, feeling them read every line in his face and every hint his body provides. A sound of pleasure and surprise worms its way out, when Dean grabs his hips and pushes him back in place, trailing kisses down his jawline to his collarbone. It’s a grounding attempt and it works somehow.

“Please make more noise,” Dean laughs, a pleasant deep sound that vibrates through them. “I’m sure they can't hear you at the hospital.”

“As if I’m to blame for that,” Castiel huffs.

“Considerate of you to wear so few clothes though,” Dean hums, tone dipping low, while he peels Castiel’s shirt back off his shoulder. His gaze lingers on the tattoos, so Castiel guesses he found one button already. “How do you feel about marks?”

He groans and shimmies to help. “Fuck, yes, as many as you can manage.. Off, offoffoff…”

Dean doesn’t help much, when he descends on his chest and sucks painful bruises. There’s that annoying moment where his hands get caught in the cuffs and he whines, as he looks down at the offensive fabric. A dark laugh makes him hold his breath and he gapes at Dean, chest rising and falling faster when they meet with a similar energy as mere moments ago. He knows this more on instinct than because he actually knows this man, but there’s a place they _want_ to meet.

His breath comes as a shiver, when he tilts forward to steal a kiss, but Dean barely moves. His lips mould to Castiel’s, gentle and persistent, and he thinks he was mistaken, that they’re not trying this again, when it deepens and the pressure on his wrists increases as Dean twists the fabric again.

“How’s this?” he asks, breathing into Castiel’s mouth.

“That’s,” he pants, arching his back as he pulls against the constraints, “That’s… a _yes_.”

“Right here and now?”

Castiel flutters his eyes open and licks his lips a few times, tasting Dean there, and all kinds of suggestions. His mind slipslides happily. To the gutter, to the fantasies, to all that he’s missed and all that he’s being handed on a silver platter so out of the blue.

“You’re actually considering it,” Dean groans.

“I… Yes?” Confusion blooms and he looks at Dean. “Isn’t that usually the idea?”

“Uhh, yes, I just… didn’t expect my night to go like this.”

Castiel snorts, grinning at him, bright and eager, and rolls his hips, grinding them together. “Neither did I… though we painted a picture. Well, _you_ did. How much more would you like?”

“Jeez, fuck, Cas,” Dean exhales hotly. “Does the word restraint mean anything to you?”

He actually rolls his eyes at that. “I could ask you the same, all things considered, fellow wanderer of parks in the dead of night.”

With a laugh, Dean surges forward and kisses him until his head is spinning, and he has half a mind to shimmy out of his pants by stubbornness alone.

“How about we end up under your window or mine first?” Dean asks, planting kisses up his neck.

Castiel’s unsure what to do. The heat coming off Dean in waves suggests he wants this as much as Castiel does, but the words he speaks, the way he presses their foreheads together again as if Castiel is someone special, belies a quick fling in the park. He didn’t expect that. What he reads into a situation or hopes for is rarely what other people see, so he’s learned to adjust his expectations. Lower them, generally.

“Wha… What do you want from me?” he asks, tone going painfully vulnerable.

A flash of a more grounding intention crosses Dean’s features once more and Castiel’s eyes widen, skin prickling with nerves. Just like that he gets back control over his arms, but it’s short-lived when Dean wraps him in a _hug_. With kisses, but gentler ones, as if he sensed Castiel’s feelings. Rich, since Castiel is barely able to identify them himself at this moment, but he clutches onto Dean, taking every kiss he’s offered.

“You okay?” Dean mutters to his lips.

He keeps his eyes closed as he nods. Presses his lips to Dean’s when he replies. “Y… Yes. My question stands though.”

Dean smiles and remains there, allowing this strange intimacy to continue, strong arm across Castiel’s shoulders. Their faces inches apart, Dean’s is a sight to behold, a blend of cockiness, dominance, strength and kindness. “I wanna have that daydream of yours. See if we can expand on it…”

“That’s what I said,” Castiel pouts. “How much more do you want?”

“We start with what’s there.”

“Pubs are closed.”

“Fucking hell… You’re too cute. Indian Summer winds, baby,” Dean breathes out, kissing him between every word. “Walking. Sunrise. Window. See who kisses who first again and…”

“If we ever make it inside,” Castiel whispers. He’s nodding as Dean speaks, holding onto him tighter.

“Your window or mine… my car. Anything goes.”

“My window,” Castiel says.

“Yes?”

“Cats. Yes.”

Dean breathes into his mouth, hands coasting over his flanks. 

“Cats. Right,” he nods. “What are their names?”

“Bumble and Bee.”

Dean’s eyes shine in endeared disbelief and he kisses the tip of Castiel’s nose. Someone special. His brain knows these kinds of kisses are different. He wants more.

“More kisses first,” Dean says.

He inhales the words along with Dean’s breath and kisses him. Our spot now, he thinks, which is something he’ll explain to Dean when they make it to the other side of their current daydream.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fifth in a series, which I haven't officially made into a series (because clutter tags). You can find all of them, if you follow the 'snowglobe story' tag. Links below if you feel like exploring <3
> 
> [Heavenly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23247922): friends with benefits dumb, but sweet boys.  
> [Thiples](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26755060): festival setting with martial arts Cas and dancer Dean. Subtle genderfluid.  
> [Dance Real Close](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28014339): spies AU, winter ball, blatant flirting and first kiss/time.  
> [You're My Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29061300): roommates/friends to lovers, genderfluid Cas, first kiss.


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